


lowering the bar

by bertee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dating, M/M, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 17:38:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5793745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bertee/pseuds/bertee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two strangers walk into a bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lowering the bar

The roleplaying, like the majority of questionable things in Sam's sex life, is Dean's idea.

When Sam (reluctantly) agreed to it, he half-expected Dean to pull out a luchador mask or some chainmail or a Carmen Sandiego hat or the accessories for some other bizarrely specific fetish Sam had never known existed. However, when he finds himself sitting alone in a bar nursing a whiskey and coke, he can't help but think that dressing up as a geographically improbable thief would be an improvement.

His fingers leave prints in the condensation as he taps the glass and Sam knocks his foot against the barstool in the same nervous rhythm. There are no threats here, no ghosts or demons or angels, and beyond a tipsy bridesmaid-to-be and a college kid who barely looked old enough to drink, no-one's paying much attention to him, but that doesn't do much to calm his unease.

He's contemplating saying screw it, just finishing up his drink and heading back to the motel, but a hand lands on his shoulder before he can lift his glass from the bar.

"Hey, man, you got a little something-"

Sam's surprise (and, if he's honest, relief) at Dean's presence is quickly replaced by confusion when Dean gestures to his hair. "What-"

He reaches up to smooth his hair down, trying to feel for what Dean is pointing at, and Dean leans closer, frowning. "Oh, wait, my bad." He flashes Sam a smile. "It's just your halo."

It's a terrible line. From the grin on Dean's face, he knows it's a terrible line but he looks so damn entertained by his own terribleness that Sam can't help but smile back.

He thinks he may have just discovered the entire logic behind Dean's success with women. (Well, that and his face.)

"Does that line ever actually work?" Sam's trying for dismissive and judgmental but it mostly comes out as entertained.

Dean's grin widens. "Y'know, you'd be surprised." 

He eases himself between the stools to lean against the bar and Sam can't stop his eyes from dropping to the glimpse of Dean's chest visible beneath the open buttons of his shirt. He's surprisingly put together for a guy who's hitting on his own brother, dressed in his best-fitting suit with a crisp white shirt beneath and no tie, and when he holds out his hand to shake, Sam wonders where he stole his cufflinks from.

"I'm Ethan," Dean says when Sam shakes his hand. 

It's ridiculous but Sam holds it together long enough to reply. "Daniel."

"Pleasure to meet you, Daniel." Sam watches the way Dean's lips move around the new name. "Can I get you a drink?"

Sam nods to his two-thirds empty whiskey and coke. "I'm good, thanks."

Dean doesn't push it, just leans over to catch the bartender's eye, and Sam tries not to focus on the little jolt of jealousy that appears when Dean's shameless smile is directed at someone else. 

"Dry manhattan on the rocks," Dean says and Sam does a double-take. Dean's usual alcohol preferences run strong and simple, and so Sam can't help but be reluctantly impressed by the fact that he's branching out.

Something must show on his face when Dean glances back over his shoulder since he throws him a wink before leaning back out to flag down the bartender again. "Hey, man, can I get another one of the same?"

The bartender gives him a thumbs up and Dean turns back around, looking stupidly pleased with himself.

"Y'know, I said I was good," Sam says. It's less accusatory than he intends but any criticism rolls right off Dean. 

"Sorry," Dean says, leaning against the bar. "You just looked like you were nearly done with that one." He catches Sam's eyes and lets a challenge filter through into his voice when he says, "You're not running out on me yet, are you, Daniel? I mean, the night's still young."

There are dozens of sinful possibilities waiting behind his words and Sam's gaze drops from his mouth to the visible dip of his collarbone as he thinks of all the things they could do with what's left of the night.

"Maybe," he says, not wanting to play it too eagerly with a guy he's (pretending to have) only just met. "Depends if there's anything here to keep me occupied."

Dean laughs and settles back against the bar, close enough to make it clear his full attention is on Sam but not close enough to push things along too quickly. After years of being the taller one, it's strange to be looking up at Dean for once but the position -- Dean standing, Sam sitting, even if only on a barstool -- feels like he's being waited on, like Dean is there to provide whatever service he needs.

Sam isn't opposed to this implication.

"Guess I'll just have to hold your interest a while longer," Dean says, still just about riding the right side of the line between charming and sleazy. "You new in town? I don't think I've see you around here before."

The bartender arrives with their drinks and Sam takes a sip while Dean slips him a note. It's not their usual fare but surprisingly good, and from the satisfied smirk on Dean's face, he knows it.

(Sam honestly isn't sure when smirking, self-satisfied Dean became a turn-on instead of an annoyance. He blames the alcohol and/or the cufflinks.)

"I'm just passing through," Sam says, relaxing back on his chair. "In town for a convention."

"Let me guess," Dean says, looking him up and down. Sam picked out a dark sweater and tight jeans for the evening, wanting anything that wasn't a plaid shirt or a fed suit, but he has a sudden flash of panic that it isn't suitably in character when Dean guesses, "You're a computer genius. Some kind of teenage prodigy maybe?"

Sam laughs and takes another sip of his (pretty great) drink. He makes a mental note to get Dean to order it again in future when they're back to being themselves. "Not quite," he says. "Lawyer. I do specialize in technology cases though."

"Damn," Dean says. "So close. Guess the next round's on me." He catches Sam's eyes and Sam's almost convinced there's actual honesty in his voice when he says, "I knew you'd be doing something smart though."

Sam waits for the end to that pick-up line but smiles in surprise when it never comes. "What, no cheesy lawyer-themed come-on?"

"Hey, come on," Dean teases, "I have some stamina, y'know."

Sam raises his eyebrows. "So you're in this for the long haul?"

The shameless grin is back on Dean's face in an instant. "I'm definitely in it for the long something."

Sam groans and Dean holds up his hands in playful self-defense. "I'm sorry," he says. "It was too easy."

The red light from the sign behind the bar catches the side of Dean's face, lighting the curve of his cheekbone and the gelled sweep of his hair, and Sam's gaze lingers for a long second. Growing up, Dean's attractiveness was like the laws of physics, unceasing and unquestionable, but from this side of things, he seems even more appealing than the sum of his very attractive parts. 

"So how about you?" Sam says, taking a drink. "What do you do, _Ethan_?"

"I'm a spy." He says it so matter of factly that Sam fails to stifle a laugh.

"A spy." Sam glances around. "In Nebraska."

"I go where I'm needed," Dean says, unfazed by Sam's incredulous reaction. "It isn't the easiest line of work but I've always enjoyed a challenge."

His eyes stay on Sam's as he raises the glass to his lips and Sam finds himself looking away first as a warm flush creeps up his neck and cheeks.

Clearing his throat, he focuses on the ridiculous aspects to Dean apparently being a spy rather than the attractive ones. "So what do you spy on? Secret corn-growing methods?"

Dean looks at him sadly. "Y'know, I could tell you…"

"But then you'd have to kill me?" 

"Harsh but true," Dean says with mock solemnity. "Government-mandated eliminations are not the best way to end a relationship."

Sam shakes his head, embarrassingly entertained by Dean's bullshit. As much as he'd like to tell himself otherwise, if Dean was an actual stranger giving him these lines, he can't guarantee that he'd be leaving.

"I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to tell people you're a spy," Sam points out. "I've seen the Jason Bourne movies."

"Well, there's your first mistake," Dean says. "Movies exaggerate things. I mean, I haven't been brainwashed by a secret CIA organization for at least a couple of months now." Sam laughs and Dean knocks back the rest of his drink before admitting, "But yeah, we're generally supposed to keep it quiet. After all, it's a dangerous line of work."

"So then why are you telling me?" Sam asks. "Haven't you just blown your cover?"

Dean's eyes lock on his. "I figured it was a risk worth taking."

The intensity crackles out a moment later when he adds with a grin, "Anyway, it's not like my cover was the only thing I'm gonna blow tonight."

Sam puts a hand over his eyes with a groan. "I seriously thought we'd be past the bad lines by now."

"What did I tell you," Dean says with a lift of his eyebrows, "stamina, man."

"All right," Sam says, perversely curious. "You got one more chance at a cheesy line before I go find someone else to drink with." It's an empty threat -- there's no-one in the bar in the same league as Dean -- but as he looks up into Dean's face, he wants some kind of leverage. "Pick your best and lay it on me."

"Sounds fair," Dean says, catching his tongue between his teeth as he considers. The decision sparks in his eyes and Sam braces himself when Dean leans forward. "I have a magic watch."

Sam blinks. "A magic watch." Against his better judgment, he asks, "What does it do that's so magic?"

Dean makes a show of looking at his wrist. "Well, right now, it's telling me that you aren't wear any underwear."

Sam's almost disappointed by the shoddy come-on but that doesn't stop him from correcting him. "Sorry," he says, downing the last of his drink and making to stand up, "definitely wearing underwear."

Dean frowns, checking his wrist again, but then looks up with a smile. "Man, I'm sorry about that," he says easily. "Sometimes it runs fifteen minutes fast."

Sam groans again, smiling as he sits back down on his stool, but Dean moves in a fraction closer when he says, "So, you gonna go find someone else to drink with?"

Sam shrugs. "I guess here isn't so bad."

Dean looks down and Sam watches the sweep of his tongue over his lower lip as he leans in even closer and murmurs, "Listen, I don't usually do this but I, uh, I got a hotel room close by." His eyes meet Sam's, big and dark in the dim light of the bar. "Y'know," he says with a hopeful smile, "in case you felt like going somewhere more private."

Sam tells himself that the fluttery feeling in his chest is just the alcohol sinking in. It's embarrassing how much he wants to say yes, wants to take Dean back to the room and fuck him until he can't remember his own (fake) name, but even more embarrassing is how quickly he's succumbed to Dean's seduction techniques. 

However, as much as Sam is unwillingly impressed by how much game Dean has, there's only so far he's willing to let him go. (Apparently brotherly competitiveness stretches to picking each other up in bars.) 

Dean's lips are inches from his, still shiny from the sweep of his tongue, and Sam gives him his answer by tugging him into a kiss.

Dean's surprised jolt is more than satisfying and Sam rises to his feet as he deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue against Dean's before Dean has even got it together enough to respond. He gets with the program quickly enough, tilting his head back into the kiss as Sam rests his hands on his hips, and he kisses back with enthusiasm when Sam pushes him up against the bar. 

Dean's cheeks are flushed when they break apart, his earlier suave charm sliding back to flustered happiness, but he looks up at Sam with a familiar grin. "Welcome to the party, Ally McBeal."

Sam's conscious of the eyes on them from around the bar but he can't bring himself to care as he slides his hands down to Dean's ass to feel him tense and arch forward into him. The height advantage is back in his favor and he makes full use of it when he leans down just enough that Dean can't close the gap to kiss him. 

"I guess we should go find that hotel room," he murmurs against Dean's mouth. "Wouldn't want that magic watch of yours to be wrong."

Dean's grin is bright and triumphant. Sam just wants to kiss it off his lips when Dean says with a wink, "Lead the way, Danny."


End file.
